


Red Rain

by Amycat8733



Series: Lightning 'verse [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amycat8733/pseuds/Amycat8733
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team is captured, and a bad combination of drugs unleashes the darkness in John's soul. Rodney is horrified at seeing it firsthand. Will their friendship survive?<br/>This story is rather graphic and bloody. You have been warned. Post season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Rain

 

* * *

                      

 

 

“Dammit! I told you to be careful with those drugs! Now we have a dead body and no answers! He was the leader, which means he had the codes we needed!” Temblor snarled at his Questioner in annoyance.

The Questioner, Simeon, drew himself up to his full height. “My drugs are not the problem. If you would let me use them from the start instead of after your thugs have ‘softened’ up the captives, this wouldn’t happen. Do not try to blame me for this. I will make sure that Chief Nettor sees the body. He will know what the bruises and other wounds mean.”

Temblor slumped. He was not in good odor with Nettor right now. “Fine, have a couple of the men place him in a cell. We’ll say he died of injuries sustained during his capture.”

Simeon waved at two of the men milling nearby. “Take him to a cell. Arrange him so it looks like he is sleeping. Do not damage him further or you will be my next assistants.”

The two thugs swallowed nervously then picked up the body of the tall, thin man in the black clothes. They carried him to a cell and placed him on the bunk on his back. One of them got creative and bent one of the man’s arms so that it lay across his stomach. Stepping back, they surveyed their job. Satisfied that it looked as if the man was sleeping, they pulled the door shut and left.

 

* * *

 

Death stalked the halls that night. Some whispered that it was the devil, come to claim his due. Others spoke in hushed voices of a shadow that pierced men and killed with its touch. Others felt that it was the spirits of the Questioner’s victims, seeking revenge.

They were all wrong, but they were also right.

The man in black slipped from one shadow to the next. Anyone that had seen him would have dismissed him as a ghost or a trick of poor lighting. Only his victims felt the touch of flesh and steel that would have proved that it was a real person. The men died, some died standing next to their comrades without a sound being uttered. Some saw a flash of silver steel before bright blood flew from severed throats.

The shadow continued its relentless search through the maze. Rounding a corner, the shadow man found himself in a room with six guards. Having heard about the other deaths, they realized that this man in black was the one doing it. The dripping knife in his hand also helped clue them in.

As the guards charged, the shadow went into action. He sprang into the air, aiming a high kick at one guard even as he drew a second knife to slash at two more. The kick landed true, shattering the guard’s nose and sending bone fragments into his brain. One of the others went down with a slashed throat while the second reeled back with a gashed face.

The other three charged in, but the shadow had become a whirling dervish with only the flashes of silver from his knives to show where his hands had been. A high elbow connected with one man’s temple even as a knife slid across his throat. At the same time, a back kick took out a knee of a guard that had come up behind him. The last uninjured guard and the one with the slashed face rushed the shadow man at the same time. A whirl of inky darkness, a shower of red and the room was silent except for the man in black standing in the middle of the room.

Further into the maze the shadow man crept. He found a barracks room and crept through it, a specter of death, leaving only silence and a trail of spreading red pools behind.

At length, he came to a corridor lined with cells. He knew he had no quarrel with those behind these doors. Slipping a metal key from a hook, the shadow stalked down the corridor unlocking each door. Behind him he could hear prisoners taking advantage of his actions and scurrying down the corridor away from him.

At the end of the corridor, he found another room filled with guards with one door in the wall opposite the corridor. Several yelled and the guards charged him. He stayed in the narrower hallway so only a few guards could get to him at a time. The first guards to reach him saw death in his eyes – their own. Bright blades and blood flew, paired up with deadly efficient kicks, elbow jabs and the occasional fist.

The dead piled up in the doorway, creating a barrier of flesh.

There were only a few guards left when something impacted his right shoulder. Without missing a beat, the shadow reached up, pulled it out and threw it back, sending it through the eye and into the brain of its owner.

A rolling leap took him across the barrier of flesh and into the midst of the last guards. Once again, there was a swirl of black and silver, splashes of red and the room fell silent except for the heavy breathing of the man in black.

Through the door on the other side and down a long corridor the shadow man continued. The corridor opened into another large area also teeming with guards. Two walls were lined with cages so that the unfortunate occupants could see the fate of others in full detail. Old bloodstains told the tale of terrible deeds committed during interrogations or just for sport.

The guards in the room were distracted by their sport, scrumming and fighting over something on the floor. With a shout, the object flew into the air: it was a recently severed human head. One guard grabbed it and was promptly sucker-punched, the head snatched from his grasp. The guards never noticed that Death had joined the game until one caught what he thought was the ‘ball’ and realized that it was his friend’s head. His scream roused the rest of the guards and the prisoners in the cages.

Many of the prisoners only saw flashes of black, silver and red; their eyes could not keep up with the shadow’s dance of death. The guards couldn’t either; they were not trained to fight as a group. A few thought they landed blows, but the dark dancer never slowed. The guards died; flashes of silver and fountains of red marking the trail of the shadow man through the room.

Only three people in the room were able to follow the macabre dance being played out: a petite woman with copper hair, a pale skinned man of average height and a nervous disposition and a tall, muscular man with long hair and a predator’s eyes. These three recognized the death dealer, but at the same time they all saw a stranger wearing their friend’s face. This was because their friend did not normally act like this. They each wondered what had happened to cause this shift in behavior. One, the nervous man, knew where these actions had come from. The man had done similar acts in the past, in defense of his home and his people, but the nervous man had not witnessed it firsthand. Now he had a front row seat.

“Sheppard?” It was Rodney that found his voice first. He knew John was capable of this. 63 Genii had also discovered that fact the hard way. Hell, he suspected it was one of the reasons why the man kept such control of his emotions and his temper.

“Now I know why he holds back during sparring.” Ronon was impressed. It was evident in his tone.

“I knew that John could do this. I knew this darkness lurked in his soul. This is why I try to help him stay centered and in control.” Teyla was horrified at the dance before her. It horrified her to see the gentle man that she cared for doing this, using moves that she had taught him.

The final guards, seeing their deaths before them in the shape of the blood-spattered black-clad figure, decided to try to work together. Unfortunately, their attempt to surround the shadow was laughable. As soon as they gathered, he feinted towards one guard. Seeing a chance, the others rushed in, hoping to score a kill. This played into the shadow’s plan as they quickly tangled each other up. Once more the figure became a dark dervish, twisting and spinning; blades flashing; blood fountaining into the air before falling back in a macabre parody of a rainstorm.

“Red rain. I thought it was just an old soldier’s tale.” Ronon was amazed. “Never thought I’d see it.”

Rodney, realizing what Ronon had said and what he had just witnessed, turned around and puked.

As the last of the guards fell, the Lanteans watched as their friend plucked a large key from the wall and started opening cages. They could tell he was exhausted and that some of the blood dripping from him was his own, but he never wavered or said a word. Theirs were the last cages he unlocked. They each saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, darkened to a forest green instead of the warm hazel that they knew so well. They had each heard that the eyes were the window to the soul, and in that moment they each truly believed it.

Sheppard turned after the last cage was opened and headed back the way he had come. Ronon and Teyla armed themselves from the weapons scattered among the corpses, before the trio followed their friend down the corridor.

As they headed out, Rodney was glad that he had thrown up as the number of bodies they found increased. Blood pooled like rain after a heavy storm, deep enough in some of the rooms that he was glad he had started wearing combat boots; his old sneakers would have been soaked through. They encountered a few more guards, but they fared as well as their predecessors, dying in a flash of silver and red.

After a few rooms, Rodney stopped looking at the bodies and started looking around at the things lying around. In one room, he found their gear. Ronon was particularly glad to have his blaster back and, if Rodney was honest with himself, he was glad to have his Beretta back. He had gotten so used to having it that he felt almost naked without it, and that told just how different his life had become in the last six years. Teyla also looked much happier with her Beretta and P-90. They stuffed Sheppard’s gear into one of the packs and hurried to catch up with him.

As they exited the building where they had been held, Rodney realized that it was still dark, although a faint glow in the east heralded the coming dawn.

As they approached the compound’s gates, Ronon saw five figures hurrying towards them. Sheppard saw them too and turned, knives at the ready, to face them. The five stopped as they got a good look at Sheppard, noticing the blood liberally splattered on his skin and the way that his clothes shone wetly in the torchlight. Deciding that cowardice was the better part of staying alive, the two guards ran, leaving the other three to face the pissed off Lanteans.

One of the trio, either possessing more backbone or being stupider that the rest, took two steps towards the team, staring at Sheppard. “This cannot be. You are dead. You had no heartbeat; no breath after the drugs took effect. I checked myself.”

Ronon rushed over and grabbed the man by the throat. “What did you give him?”

The man struggled to get free then realized it would do him no good. “J-just a muscle relaxer…a-and something to…lower his inhibitions. It was…su-supposed to make…him relaxed and t-t-talkative, n-n-not turn him…into a…m-mon- _ack_.”

Rodney suspected that the man had been about to say ‘monster’ before Ronon cut him off. “Do you have these drugs with you?”

Dangling from Ronon’s grip, the man nodded.

“Hand them over.” Ronon’s growl was almost subsonic.

The Questioner was pathetic in how quickly he did just that, although Rodney figured that the guy deserved a brownie point for not dropping the vials. It was only as he stepped forward to take the vials from the man that he realized that Sheppard and Teyla were no longer there. Glancing around, he spotted movement on the road headed towards the Stargate. Grabbing the vials, Rodney motioned towards the other two. “C’mon, we’ve got a wormhole to catch.”

Ronon glanced through the gates then down at Rodney. “Go, I’ll catch up.”

Rodney looked at the former Runner. “You better, Conan. I don’t want to tell Sheppard if you get killed. If that happens, I’ll kill myself – less painful.” With that, the irascible scientist took off after the rest of the team, limping and guarding his ribs.

Ronon turned to his captive and the other two men. “Normally, I’d kill you for what you’ve done. This time, I think I’ll let you live. You will spread the word that we are to be left alone. We do not negotiate with scum, we kill them.” The angry Satedan dropped the trembling Questioner to the dirt and stalked off. Just before he passed through the gate, he turned back. “If that man dies, I will come back and hunt each of you down personally. I will then take you to Purria and find a bed of elassan slime mold and watch as it slowly eats you alive.” The men visibly paled at the threat with the Questioner and one other wetting themselves. Ronon turned back and headed off to catch up with his team.

It only took Ronon about five minutes to catch up with the rest of the team. They had been keeping pace with Sheppard and his friend was starting to stagger badly. At that moment, several more of Temblor’s men burst out of the woods. The stagger was gone, replaced by a whirlwind of black. Ronon and Teyla accounted for two, Rodney one while Sheppard took out the rest.

This continued for the walk back to the gate. At one point, Ronon tried to move up and take point, but the look in Sheppard’s eyes made him decide otherwise. It was disconcerting, having to watch as Sheppard took out their enemies. They were all glad that some part of him recognized them, because as things stood, none of them could defeat him.

Rodney was never so relieved to see a Stargate. The gate meant home and help. They were a pretty bedraggled bunch. Teyla had a nasty gash on her left leg and a matching one on her forehead. McKay had a sprained knee and cracked ribs. Ronon had taken a hard hit to the head and had a slowly bleeding stab wound in his right thigh as well as some cracked ribs. None of them wanted to guess how badly Sheppard was injured because that would mean figuring out how much of the blood that he was covered in was his own. After dialing the Gate and sending his IDC, Rodney called ahead. “This is McKay. We need Carson with medical teams. You also need to clear the Gateroom as a precaution.”

“This is Atlantis. Dr Beckett is on his way. Gateroom is clear. You’re clear to come through.” Amelia Salawi was calm on the other end.

It was a pretty bedraggled group that stepped through the event horizon. McKay came first, followed by Teyla and Ronon. When Sheppard stepped through, every Marine in the place tightened their grips on their weapons. They all recognized the dark energy flowing from the Colonel. No one moved as Sheppard advanced into the center of the Gateroom, where he stopped, dark eyes taking in everything. The huge room was silent except for the occasional beeps from the computers. The silence was broken by two metallic chimes when Sheppard’s knives hit the floor, followed by a thud and a splat as the Colonel followed them.

Rodney looked around and noticed several people holding back gags as they saw the amount of blood on the floor. Teyla hurried to Sheppard’s side when he collapsed and put his head in her lap, heedless of the blood. She checked his pulse, relieved to find it present, if a bit shallower than comfortable.

When Beckett arrived and saw the blood on the floor, his first thought was that someone had exploded. Seeing only whole bodies, he decided that it had come from Sheppard’s team or, more likely, from the Colonel himself, since he was the only one covered in the stuff. Moving quickly, Carson knelt at John’s side. When he touched the Colonel, he realized his assumption was correct. Blood oozed from his clothes as he checked John over. Looking up, he motioned the gurney closer. “Janet, put a couple of the blankets over the gurney. We’re goin’ ta need to contain all this blood. Tom, help me get him on the gurney.” Beckett and his staff quickly had Sheppard on the gurney, wrapped in blankets and headed for the infirmary, Sheppard’s team following in his wake.

 

* * *

 

The next several hours were a trying time for all concerned. Beckett had to use the big tub that they used for treatment baths to get Sheppard’s uniform off and to get the injured pilot clean enough to treat. They had to change the water three times. There was so much blood on him that his hair was actually lying flat. After they got his bloody clothes off and removed the blood from his skin and hair, they wrapped the injured pilot in thick towels and got him on a gurney before heading to the OR.

Beckett was tired as he left the surgery. He sat down with Sheppard’s team as Marie and Kelly were getting the Colonel settled. Teyla put a cup of coffee in his hands. He smiled his thanks as he took a few swallows. “Well, the lad is a right mess, but he’ll make a full recovery. He has a puncture wound from a thrown knife in his right shoulder, a nasty cut near his hairline on the left side of his face, a shallow cut along his left jaw and numerous other cuts. The Colonel also has some cracked ribs and some previously dislocated fingers on his left hand. Grand total was 180 stitches, 23 butterflies, and three splints.”

Carson drank some more of the coffee before continuing. “Rodney, Ronon, thanks to th’ two o’ ye, I didna have to guess at the drugs in his system. That was good thinking. We’ve counteracted the effects, and there will be no lasting side effects. I dinna know how much he will remember, but after what I saw in the Gateroom, I’m not going to push the lad to see the shrink. Some things are better left alone, plus I know he is more likely to talk to th’ three o’ ye or to Nick than he is to Dr. Wilson.

Carson stood. “Go on, the lasses have him settled. Just make sure to get some rest yourselves. Trays will be up shortly.”

As Ronon and Teyla headed for Sheppard’s corner, Rodney stayed with Carson, fidgeting. “What caused him to act like that?”

Carson sighed. “Rodney, from what I can tell, the drugs reacted badly with the Colonel’s physiology. I tried some of the drugs on a blood sample from someone without the gene and got a different set of reactions. “

“So what you’re saying is that once again, Sheppard’s super gene bit him in the ass.”

“Aye, that’s one way to put it.”

Rodney fidgeted some more. “How… how do I deal with this, with…him? I am honestly afraid of him right now.”

Carson put his arm around Rodney’s shoulders. “Don’t be. That man is still your friend. He told you once that we all have some darkness in our souls. Most of us are lucky and it never comes out. For some, they use it to commit heinous acts of murder for pleasure. John uses his to survive against overwhelming odds and to protect us all, and I for one am glad.”

Rodney was stunned. “Glad? You’re glad that he’s a …”

“Don’t say it Rodney.” Carson cut him off, his brogue getting thick. “Once you say it, you’ll start to think it and act on it and it will change everything between th’ two o’ ye. And, aye, I’m glad that the lad uses his darkness the way he does, because if he didn’t, we wouldn’t be here. Remember, that darkness has saved our lives, more than once.”

Rodney sighed. “I know. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be a slave on the Genii homeworld and we wouldn’t be standing here having this discussion. I just…don’t usually see that up close and personal. I’m usually running for the Gate or trying to get a door open, not watching as my best friend does an impersonation of a spiky-haired lawnmower.”

Carson patted Rodney on the shoulder. “Just talk to him and be yourself. He’s still your friend. This is just one more part of him. Remember, friendship is accepting the roses and the thorns. You can’t be a true friend if you only accept one part.” The Scot grabbed Rodney’s shoulder. “I know for a fact that he accepts yer thorns, so I know ye can do the same.”

With that, Carson patted Rodney on the shoulder again, before heading to his office.

 

* * *

 

Floating in the warmth, Sheppard did not want to wake up, but his dreams were haunted by flashes of silver and splashes of red. When the images got too bad, they were chased away by quiet encouragement, rumbled softly in his ear, or by the relentless tapping of a keyboard and a voice chattering about inept scientists, or by soft fingers combing through his hair and singing sweetly. It was to the soft fingers and singing that he awoke.

Climbing his way out of the darkness took some effort. The voice that was singing wanted him to come back to her. He was trying, but the darkness was clingy, like fresh-picked cotton and did not want to let go. He struggled and eventually won against the darkness, climbing towards the light and the beautiful woman singing to him of homecoming and peace.

Cracking his eyes open a bit, John tested the light. Finding it suitably dim, he managed to open his eyes the rest of the way to focus on the owner of the fingers he felt carding through his hair. “Teyla?”

The fingers stilled. “Yes, John. Are you awake?”

John blinked some more. “Yeah.” He looked around to confirm where he was, but had already figured it out due to the smell and Atlantis humming in the back of his skull. “Wha…” He started to ask, but a cough broke up his question. A couple of ice chips slipped between his lips as the coughing subsided, soothing his dry throat.

Teyla gave him a few more. “We are home. It has been three days” She saw him tense and put her hand on his chest. “Do not move. You have a sizable number of stitches and need to lie still.” She reached over and pressed the call button. When Kelly poked her head through the curtain, Teyla let her know that John was awake.

Kelly stepped over. “Glad to see you back with us, Colonel. I’ll let the Doc know you’re awake.”

Settling into his pillows, John looked at Teyla, clasping her free hand in his. “Are you alright? Rodney, Ronon? What happened?”

Teyla resumed stroking his hair. “We are all fine. What do you remember?”

John closed his eyes as he sorted memories. Opening them, he looked into Teyla’s. “I remember us getting ambushed and being separated after they took us to their compound. They took me to the VIP room for special treatment. After trying to soften my ribs and redesign my fingers, this other guy comes in, gives me some drugs. After that, only flashes until waking up here.”

At that point, Carson walked through the curtains. “Ah, laddie, I see you’re awake. How’re ye feelin’?”

John shifted, checking out the various aches. “Shoulder hurts, headache, ribs are sore, left hand hurts too.” Seeing the Scottish doctor reaching for his pocket, John scowled. “And leave that torture device in your pocket.”

Carson sighed as he pulled out the penlight. “Now, lad, you know it’s necessary. I need to check the responsiveness of your pupils to check on your concussion.” Carson reached into another pocket and removed a syringe, which he placed on the bedside table. “I do promise to be quick and that you can have this when I’m done.”

John sighed. “Alright, Doc. Make it quick ‘cause my head is pounding.”

He managed not to flinch as Carson checked his pupils. As the doctor moved on to check the rest of his vitals, Teyla noticed that he was swallowing a lot. Realizing that he was nauseous, Teyla grabbed a basin and held it up just as John leaned forward, violently ill. Beckett supported the sick pilot as he puked, rubbing circles on his back. Once the heaves stopped, Beckett took the basin and left while Teyla grabbed a damp cloth and wiped his face off.

“Ow, that sucked.” John leaned back into his pillows again, sore and wiped out. His headache was now worse and he had a sore gut and throat to go with it.

Putting the damp rag down, Teyla reached up and placed her fingertips on John’s temples. “Close your eyes and relax. This will help.” John closed his eyes, making a visible effort to relax. As she started moving her fingers in small circles, massaging his temples, she reached out to his mind, never too far away since they had given in and opened their hearts to each other. Entering his mind, she stepped between him and the pain, not blocking it completely, but enough to make it tolerable until Beckett could deliver on his promise. She felt the Scot coming and pulled her mind back, letting her hands continue the massage.

“Thanks, Teyla. Love you.” John’s voice was soft as he edged towards sleep.

“You are welcome, my love, now you should sleep.” Teyla smiled as his mind reached out in a loving caress. She was always amazed that John had learned to be this open. Coming to Atlantis had started eroding the walls he had built around his heart as he discovered that he had a family now – one that understood him and allowed him to be what he was meant to be. As events had destroyed more of those walls, she had started noticing that she could tell his moods and certain feelings, even when he had his back to her. Then she started getting images and flashes of thoughts. The first time his mind fully opened to her and hers to him was during the first time they made love together, after they admitted their feelings for each other. That was also when she told him that by Athosian standards they had been betrothed for four years.

As Beckett stepped up to the bed, he noticed the look of peace on John’s face then smiled at Teyla and motioned for her to continue what she was doing. Picking up the syringe, he emptied the contents into the Colonel’s IV. “Stay with him until he falls asleep, will ye, lass?”

Teyla smiled. “Of course, Carson.  Ronon will be here soon with dinner. Should I have him bring John something?”

Carson nodded. “Aye, something filling and easy on the stomach. If I remember, one of the cooks mentioned loaded potato soup was on the menu today. I know John likes that; it’s filling and easy on the stomach, and he can have a turkey sandwich with it.”

Teyla smiled again. “He will like that. I will let Ronon know.” She shifted her hands, moving from massaging his temples to massaging his forehead and scalp, knowing that the motions would help to relax him and help him to feel better.

John was not awake when Ronon brought dinner, but when he awakened later that evening, one of the nurses reheated the soup for him. John’s picky stomach found it tasty and filling and announced itself pleased with the offering. It also graciously accepted the offering of the turkey sandwich. After eating and a trip to the bathroom for relief and a shower, John crawled back into bed, dressed in clean scrubs and curled up as much as his injuries would let him and drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next time he woke, he figured it was near morning from the strength of the light coming through the windows and the dim overheads. The sound of typing intruded on his thoughts and he turned to see McKay, furiously working on something. John moved to shift in the bed and grunted as the movement pulled on the stitches in his shoulder.

The tapping stopped. “You’re awake. Thirsty?” Rodney raised the head of the bed a bit then held out a glass of water with a straw at John’s nod and held it while his friend drank.

“Thanks.” John leaned back into his pillows as Rodney set the glass down. “How are things?”

Rodney waved a hand. “You know, the usual. Deidermeyer and Kavanagh seem to be having a race as to which is the most irritating. Fortunately, they are irritating each other so much that they aren’t bothering anyone else.” Rodney got up and started pacing as he continued to fill John in on the latest happenings.

For his part, John listened. They may not be under his command, but he needed to know where potential issues could arise from. He also needed to know because personal issues had a way of coming out on away missions, and he didn’t need the scientists trying to kill themselves – there were usually plenty of scavengers around willing to do that. He also noticed that McKay kept shooting him these little glances, like he was about to do tricks or go nuts.

Finally, John had enough of the glances. “Alright, Rodney, spill it. You keep watching me like I’m a snake that’s about to bite you.”

Rodney flinched. “It’s, um… it’s about…what happened on M3R-412. I knew you could fight like that from the Genii invasion, but it never hit me. Watching you, it really hit me as to how dangerous you are and I think about all the times you’ve been drugged out of your mind or delirious and could have killed me…us…with just a few moves. You actually impressed Ronon.”

John nodded, a bleak look in his eyes. “I know, he told me”

“How…where did you learn that? Are you a berserker or something?“  Rodney was rambling and knew it, but couldn’t stop. “Did…did the Air Force experiment on you? Are…are you a super soldier, like Captain America?”

John’s lips quirked at that. “No, the Air Force did not experiment on me, although Cap’s shield is pretty cool, but personally I’m more Iron Man.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Gee, can I figure out why?” He stared off for a minute. “Gets the girls, check; lots of weapons, check; flies over 200mph, check; reckless, check; and, oh yeah, has an insanely hot woman that loves him for some reason. Go figure, but check on that one too.”

John’s smirk got bigger. “Be careful if you say that around Teyla.” John sobered. “Seriously Rodney, you’ve heard of Special Forces and Seal teams, right?”

Rodney waved his hands as if clearing the air. “Yes, yes, of course I have. What does that have to do with you?”

John sighed. Rodney could be so dense sometimes for all of his genius. “The Air Force has Special Operations. I started off flying planes, which is when I took survival training; it’s required in case we have to bail or are shot down. Because of my aptitude for ground combat, when I switched to choppers, I was invited to join Special Operations. They’re the Air Force’s answer to the Seal teams. After my training, I was assigned to Combat Search and Rescue because it was where my skills and abilities were the most useful. Most of my CO’s didn’t know, although O’Neill does. Elizabeth did as well, but I don’t think she ever really understood just what it meant. You’ve seen it, now you know what all those classifications in my file mean.”

At Rodney’s look of surprise, John grinned. “I know you looked. I’ve known since day one, otherwise, you wouldn’t have picked me out to show me the jumpers. You showed them to me because you knew I could fly them.”

Rodney nodded, rubbing his neck. “Yeah. I hacked into your actual record before we left Antarctica. I wanted to see what kind of person you were, plus I was curious as to why you were in Antarctica. I have kept that to myself, so don’t sic Ronon or Teyla after me.”

“I know you have.” John’s reply was soft, his next question even softer. “Are you scared of me now?”

Rodney looked down at his friend. He was still pale, but looked better than he had. After four days, the cuts had started closing up and the bruises were fading. There were dark circles under the hazel eyes. He looked tired, but Rodney knew part of that was due to the painkillers. The other part was that he never slept well in the infirmary because someone was always moving around or machines were beeping or a handful of other noises happening and for someone with John’s skills it meant that he was always on edge. As he looked at John, he thought about the question, and realized that there was only one answer. “No, well maybe a little, but as Carson told me, a true friend accepts the thorns with the rose, and he was right.” Rodney held out his hand. “You’re my friend. You’ve accepted my thorns, so how can I do less?”

John reached up and clasped Rodney’s hand, searching his face for the truth. “Thanks, Rodney. That means a lot.”

Rodney lowered the bed, stepped back and sat down, picking his laptop up. “Well, you need to get some more sleep. Carson’s thinking of releasing you later and we don’t want to carry your skinny butt to your quarters because you’re too tired to walk.”

John snuggled into his blankets, his need for sleep pulling him down. He knew Ronon and Teyla were okay with what they had seen, but they had both told him that Rodney had been edgy about it. Now that the air was clear, he could rest and heal so they could get back to business. The Wraith might be down, but they weren’t completely out yet, plus there were the scavengers and all the other nastiness that Pegasus had to offer. He knew though, that with his team beside him, they could kick butt and keep taking names.

All was right once again. John drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that his family had his back and he had theirs, whatever may come.

_\--And life goes on--_


End file.
